


Ghost Stories: Questions and Answers

by em_the_cliche



Series: Ghost Stories [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Hogwarts, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Pre-Series, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:43:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5768320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_the_cliche/pseuds/em_the_cliche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all give her different questions, depending on the colour on their robes. There were exceptions and oddities throughout the long years she spent in the castle, but it almost always started with a small voice clearing their throat. And she would answer after all, it was her story to tell.<br/>First story in my anthology series: Ghost Stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost Stories: Questions and Answers

They all give her different questions, depending on the colour on their robes. There were exceptions and oddities throughout the long years she spent in the castle, but it almost always started with a small voice clearing their throat.

“Um…excuse me?” They were always nervous, this close to running off in the opposite direction. But the lion adorned on their robes stopped them. She would turn to them, and their eyes would dart around, never meeting hers.  
“Well, uh, I…” They would often trail off at this point, looking at their feet, shifting from foot to foot. That would be when they would take a deep breath and say,

“UmIwasjustwonderingnooffensehonestlybuthowdidyoudie?” She would look at them, and even though she knew precisely what they were asking, she would look questioningly. They would stare, and then take another breath, even deeper this time, and ignoring the obvious shake in their voice they would repeat.  
“I was just wondering…no offense, honestly… but how did you die?” She smiles and says that if they had time, and were willing, she would tell her story if asked. They would nod furtively, their eyes meeting her own for the first time. And then she began the story of her life.  
“It was around the turn of the 15th Century, and it was a bad time for the Wizarding world. Witch hunts were common, muggleborns being ostracized by purebloods for anything and everything. Our world had changed, and the muggles were hunting to kill. Any muggleborn who showed any sign of magic were either taken to live in a wizarding village, or, if they were caught by their parents before wizards or witches got to the children, called demon spawn and executed. I was “taken” when I was five, and I never saw my parents again. I grew up with a pureblood family, the Prewetts. They taught me all they knew, and yet, they were scared that I would re-enter the muggle world and spill their secrets, leading the muggles to them and everyone they loved.”   
The student would look horrified, or at least somewhat scared. She would smile kindly, and before they could interrupt, as she knew they would, she continued.  
“It wasn’t a bad childhood, from what I remember of it. I barely knew my parents, and they would’ve killed me if I stayed.”  
“How could someone kill a kid? That’s…just...” They would admonish about the state of the world and how no one could ever do something like that.  
“It was a different time, you must understand. They were scared.”

They would open their mouth once again, about to rage against the muggles who would do that. She, before they could do go on, would shake her head.  
“I don’t hate the muggles, not anymore. I did, but those days have passed. I let them go, and things are different now. Anyway, I thought you wanted to know how I died?” They would start, remembering their initial question, nodding.   
“I didn’t ever re-enter muggle society, but someone did. They had made peace with the Christian god, and spoke of the location of the village. I never knew who it was. I was seventeen at the time, and unlike my adoptive parents, I didn’t know the freeze-flame charm. I burned.”   
The child would look on in shock, eyes widened and mouth slightly open. They would stare, and then finally ask one last question.  
“Why didn’t the village save you?” She would smile sadly, and reply,  
“They were all dead.” She would nod, and float away, leaving the student in shock.

{HP}

The second student would have no such difficulty asking. They would glance around before walking up to her and asking,

“Why didn’t you pass on?” The green crest on their chest answered all her questions about this student. She would stand silently, her head to the side, thinking. She would always think before answering this particular question. The student would always huff impatiently. She would always laugh a little before trying to answer.  
“I think it may have been because I was young. It may have been a thirst for revenge. I don’t really know, maybe it was because I was simply a coward.” They would look confused over her words.  
“Why were you a coward?” The question was more an insult of her bravery than an actual question. She, the first time that was asked, was angry for their insinuations. Over time, she grew accustomed to the question. She knew she was a coward.  
“I was scared of death.” She really wouldn’t have to say the last two words, but did anyway, they knew perfectly what she meant.  
“Enough to return as a ghost?”  
“Yes. Aren’t you?” They would frown, some protesting the question, saying meaningless words of forced bravery. Most would stay silent, neither confirming nor denying. That answered the question for her.  
“Death is a terrifying concept. I had stopped believing in God a long time ago, all death held for me was eternal darkness and a nothing that I couldn’t prepare for. Tell me, does that not sound terrifying to you?” They would look down at their feet, their displeasure and lack of comfort showing, contrasting the cool expression from when they asked the first question.  
“No.” She would smile kindly.  
“Really?”

Silence. Most would turn away on their heel, ignoring her from then on.  
She didn’t expect them to stay. They almost never did. The ones that did would only stare at her coldly, expecting a following remark from their silence. She used to apologize for stepping over an unseen boundary. She doesn’t anymore.

{HP}

The third kind of student would stop and stare at her before approaching. They would often fix their blue striped ties before looking up at her. She would stay, waiting patiently for their now inevitable question.

“What does being a ghost feel like? From a purely physical feeling, rather than psychological or emotional. Though, you can say that as well. If you are to answer of course, you have no obligation to.” She would chuckle slightly, and ponder on her reply. She usually answered the same thing most times.  
“Hollow. Empty. I can’t feel, as you well know.”  
“Ghosts to the living, feel cold. Do you feel cold, or a sensation equivalent to it?”  
“Ghosts feel cold? No, I don’t feel anything.” She would look down at the student, and they would avert their eyes.  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend…” She would cut off their apology, knowing full well they meant no harm.  
“I don’t mind, honestly. Is this for a school project?” Sometimes they said yes, sometimes no, but they always would say it head facing the floor, guilt tracing their words.  
“It’s okay, I don’t mind.”  
“I- I just…wondered.” She would smile, nodding.  
“I know the feeling. I was always curious when, you know.” They would nod, gratefully not pressing on.  
Some of them would walk away quickly, not looking back at her. Some apologized, but all never approached her again. Sometimes she would feel sorry, and sometimes not. She often would think about their words, lamenting the lack of life she had, but she would eventually forget, until the next student with curiosity in their eyes and an eagle on their chest would approach.

{HP}

The last type of student would approach with a nervous smile and a yellow badge upon their robes. They would often appear in groups, one standing out, the bravest of their group. They would stammer for a while, building up the courage, before looking up and asking,

“Are you okay?” Her transparent face would break into a smile at this. At this reaction, some would smile as well, varying the levels of nervousness. Others would widen their eyes, looking at the ground but they all would wait for her reply.  
“Yes, thank you, I’m okay, just...thinking.”   
“About what?” They would pause, and quickly add on, “Not that you have to answer, it’s okay, we were just wondering.” She would laugh, shaking her head.  
“It’s okay, you can ask.”  
“Okay…about what?” Some students in the group would laugh hesitantly.  
“Just…Hogwarts. My life, my death… my history.”

The students would smile shyly, and ask,  
“Do you need an ear? We don’t have class for a while.” She would smile and tell them everything, her past in the 15th Century, her death. She would tell them how she became a ghost from her strained memory, and the feeling that it comes with. She tells them her fears, her hopes, her dreams. And they just listen. Not ask, not badger, but listen.   
And she would smile and thank them for just listening. And they would thank her for sharing her story. Sometimes, it took a long time, an hour or more. Sometimes, it was for ten minutes, but they listened. And she, as a person not living, felt that was the hardest thing. Just listening. 

And she was so grateful for it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was an experiment in writing, but I am thinking of expanding this to a collection of short stories about the ghosts at Hogwarts and their stories. They would all hopefully be different, different writing styles and different, well, stories. This actually turned out very different from what I planned, but oh well.
> 
> Thanks for reading,  
> The unoriginal fox


End file.
